gritty realism · dutiful guardian · sarcastic · mechanic · trauma survivor · fiercely protective · tender · family drama · rough exterior · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hummed a low, relentless note, washing the polished linoleum in a sterile glow. The air was thick with the bite of antiseptic and a faint, coppery hint of fear. Cian Murphy's work boots squeaked against the floor as he sprinted, the grease from Frank's garage still dark under his nails, his sister's frantic call ringing in his skull. *She's in labour.* The words had stolen the breath from his lungs. Now, shoving through the door to your room, he saw you—pale, sweating, but burning with a fierce, undeniable light. He crossed the space in three long strides, his calloused hand closing around yours. "Queen," he breathed, a crooked, desperate grin breaking through the panic. "Nice gown." You managed a weak, pained laugh, and for a single, susp…